Strands
by Wren Maxwell
Summary: Taylor has a history with Wash's hair. From FOWC on terranovafanfic livejournal. Companion piece to Distracted.


AN: This is a fill for the Friday One Word Challenge (Week 5) at terranovafanfic on livejournal. Prompt was Wash/Taylor - Strands but the lovely goblin_dae.

This is a companion piece to my other fill Distracted (from Week 3, its the second chapter of Word of Inspiration.) If you haven't read that yet you probably will want to read it first, but this can stand on its own.

Enjoy!

W&TW&TW&T

He remembered when he met her.

Her hair had been black as midnight, the silky strands barely contained in the long tail that went halfway down her back.

He thought it was impractical for a soldier to go into the field with hair like that. There were too many things that could go wrong with it. It could move in the wind and catch a sentry's eye, it could get tangled and dirty, causing a distraction for the soldier dealing with it, or it could catch on branches, stopping forward progress or alerting an enemy to their presence.

It was wholly unacceptable, except he remembered his wife brushing her own hair in front of the mirror at home. It was a point of pride for a woman to have beautiful hair, considered a shame if they lost it. He figured Ayani would be displeased if she found out he had ordered his medic to cut off all her hair. So with a sigh of resignation, he ignored it.

He remembered the first time he touched it. They were hiding in some undergrowth in Somalia, waiting for a patrol to pass, each choosing a direction to keep lookout. When it was time to move out he couldn't get her attention. Silence having its own set of issues. That's when he noticed her hair stretched out in the muck between them. It was within reach, so he stretched over and gave the wild mess a sharp yank. He ignored his amusement at her scowl, simply glad he'd gotten her attention. They were likely going to need their medic before this mission was over.

A few days later they were back in camp and he was contemplating the young woman near the fire. She had proved herself to the unit that night, fighting bravely and caring for the wounded in a manner befitting someone with many more years of experience. It was that night that he realized that the tangled mass suited his fierce new recruit, and now that the dark strands were laying tame again, he saw them as a reflection of her controlled intensity.

He snorted at the ridiculousness of his own thoughts. Bit profound for something that grows out of your head. But, he had seen his medic starting to stare longingly at the scissors she used to cut field dressings, so maybe it was best if he gave… well, not really his blessing, but at least an acknowledgment of its use.

Walking up behind her he gave a short tug on the strands, holding them up so he could examine the ends of it in the firelight… it was softer than he expected it to be. When she spun to look at him he chuckled, thinking of how he'd put so much thought into this earlier. "Glad to know its good for something."

As they became friends over the years it became a familiar gesture between them. He used it when he needed to silently gain her attention in the field, when she was looking a bit too introspective than was really healthy and even occasionally as a simple way to say hello when it was just the two of them.

After Ayani was killed he didn't touch anyone for awhile, withdrawing within himself out of guilt and shame. He'd lost a lot of good soldiers, his wife, and he feared he was starting to loose his son as well. He hadn't lost Wash, but it had been a close thing, and even though he knew she was simply doing her duty he still felt the weight of it on his shoulders.

Eventually he realized that allowing the guilt to weigh on him wasn't going to solve anything and withdrawing from his unit was making him a poor leader. So he tried to let it go, tried to be more friendly and open again, regaining the trust he had lost when he retreated inside himself. Wash was the quickest to forgive, and he was grateful for her. Their camaraderie returned quickly enough, but he soon noticed a change. Whether it was within himself or her, he couldn't be sure.

She'd gotten her hair cut while she was in the hospital, probably to make caring for it easier while she was recovering. It now fell just to her shoulder blades, and Nathaniel thought it made her look more mature. She had gone from a young recruit with something to prove to a self-possessed woman more than capable of taking care of herself and, at times, him as well. It was what gave him pause the first time he went to tug her hair after Ayani's death, his fingers traveling more slowly down the silky strands before letting go. She'd turned and smiled softly at the return of the familiar gesture. If she had noticed anything different it didn't show. But he noticed, later, when he was furiously rubbing the tips of his fingers on the rough material of his fatigues to try and remove the ghostly feel of her soft hair. It felt like a betrayal to so enjoy such a simple touch.

He tried to ignore it, steel himself against it, use the gesture with the same carelessness that he used to, but he couldn't seem to remove the longing that now came with it. Wash was starting to give him these vaguely concerned looks when he would linger a moment too long. Sometimes he would reach out, then hesitate and retract his hand, knowing it was a bad idea to continue. At those moments Wash would look at him with something akin to hope. But perhaps he was reading too much into it.

When he thought she was dead it crushed his heart, but gave him renewed purpose to take back the colony and save the way of life that they had both given up so much for. When he found her in the infirmary, being cared for by a Sixer that refused to be a Sixer anymore, his heart nearly exploded. He hadn't lost her yet.

Elisabeth told him that she was badly injured, but the head injury was on its way to healing. She would wake up when she was good and ready. That sounded like the stubborn lieutenant to him. When he went in to see her it struck him as odd to see her so helpless. She could almost be sleeping, although if the cranky look on her face was any indication, she wasn't having the best of dreams.

He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he had the oddest feeling that she would shatter into a million little pieces if he did. The thought unsettled him, so he finally reached for the part of her he knew best, finding a silky section of hair cascading from her temple and starting to run it through his fingers.

He spoke little as he thought about how he felt when he thought he'd lost her. Knew that he was not going to let her go without telling her how he felt this time. The feel of her hair sliding through his fingers was an unconscious comfort, and when he felt her start to stir he never even paused. He'd grinned sheepishly when she caught him at it, and had swelled with pleasant surprise when she hadn't wanted him to stop.

After that it was like he couldn't stop touching her hair. Couldn't stop touching her, now that he had her permission. Tangling his fingers in it when he kissed her, brushing it away from her face when she was sleeping in his arms. Holding it back when the morning sickness took her and pushing the damp strands off her forehead when she was giving birth to their children.

He was an old man now, though he still didn't feel it. Alicia was an older woman, though he still didn't think she looked it. He tugged at a strand of her hair, now liberally laced with grey, but still as silky as the day he'd met her. She turned to smile at him and place a quick kiss to his lips before looking back at the ceremony before them. Their daughter was getting married today, the strands of her dark hair, so like her mothers, shining in the sun.


End file.
